


Passing By  // The Art Gods Have Blessed Him To Draw Hands But That's About It

by onsherann



Category: Countdown to Countdown (Webcomic)
Genre: Crack, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wanted to contribute to this fandom, Painting, and write this idea i had in mind, post-page 136, so i was like, why not spend 1 am to 5 am writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onsherann/pseuds/onsherann
Summary: Lillium dabbles in painting
Relationships: Iris Black & Lillium White
Kudos: 4





	Passing By  // The Art Gods Have Blessed Him To Draw Hands But That's About It

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers! Post p136

He removed the pillow from underneath his head. His hair now rested on bare, wrinkled sheets. 

Then he unwrapped the blankets from himself. Seconds later, he reconsidered on pulling them back over his legs, but just over his legs, since he wasn’t that cold. But he wasn’t that hot either, it was just the sweat that kept creeping down his shirt, wishing for him to take a nice warm shower. It was too early for a shower, though, or was it morning… yet? Iris didn’t remember if Lillium had closed the blinds before they went to sleep, in the one room inn cramped with the ( he presumed ) standard two beds, small coffee table and poorly lit bathroom. 

Just thinking of that sad bathroom reminded him of tiny pairs of legs scuttling near the bottom of the sink. How delightful that it had come to welcome him, that Iris hoped it wouldn’t come back to say hello again. In which, now that he thinks about it sleepily, he didn’t have a chance to see where it went.

After a while of not being able to fall asleep, despite every attempt to make himself comfortable, and when a position finally did suit him it only took him a moment to delve back into his nightmares, Iris took the chance to open his eyes and brace himself for the cascading of light from the morning. To his wonderment, there came only a soft glow from the paper-shaded lamp , a luminance that was careful to not wake him. He heard the scratching of lead against furnished wood, but he had to crane his ears as the movements were gentle taps of sound. 

He shifted into a sitting position, bangs tousled to distort his view, but he could see nonetheless the figure of Lillium hunched over a piece of paper at the coffee table. Scattered across the table were his art supplies? Did he leave them out last night, or did Lillium take them out with deliberate purpose to not tell Iris for permission? He opened his mouth, processing that just when he had made some acquaintance ( and albeit hesitant trust, as he was still merely a stranger) with this man there sprouted doubt again at unexpected times when he would turn the other way. But no voice came out, no voice that was his own. Lillium had turned to look at him, and had spoken instead.

“ Did I wake you?” Lillium whispered. He had made his voice small; Iris felt that the man was afraid to speak another word, afraid as if Iris might spark into anger by being woken up. He did feel angry, but the waking up part wasn’t the reason. 

Once again however, before his words spilled like dark, black ink, Lillium intervened.

“ I… I felt bad about what happened. Last night, I shouldn’t have shouted at you. 

“ One wrong turn, one step into an alley that you think is the way to go back home, can end up as the last mistake a demiflora will live to do.” A shuffle of papers. Lillium grabbed the pens and markers and quills, and many more art supplies than Iris thought he had packed, altogether to form a pile. In which a few of the pens rolled off the table, but Lillium didn’t notice their escapade.

“ There’s this booth that I passed by, after finishing my job and all. It sold that terrible scent of paint, which I still reek of by the way, and I guessed... you could use some more materials, to cheer you up.“ He looked away from Iris, who had fully awakened by now. Descending was his previous wave of annoyance, overtaken by the surprised feeling you get when Ma— mom would give him a full slice of cake to celebrate his birthdays, even if the texture was still underbaked, resulting in bits of raw dough touching his tongue. It was a nice feeling, because it came from someone you cared about, and Lillium was, he guessed, a stranger he cared a little or less about. 

So then his words now came with fewer sharper angles, and then words plural became one word, in that he expressed clearly; aloud. 

“ Thanks.” 

Out of the covers, his feet padded the floorboards and towards the coffee table. He overlooked what Lillium had been doing. Or rather, had been painting. 

“ Err I’m not very good at this, “ Lillium rushed to say, putting a hand to his hair and tugging at a few rosy strands. “ But I kinda wondered if the supplies worked well. I mean, I got them at a discount, which is highly suspicious considering I got a lot.”

“...How did you do that?”

“ What, get a discount?”

Iris ignored him, distracted by a painting hidden from bristly brown brushes. Out of the many scraps of paper that had been filled with arid, dry colors; chicken-scratches made of irregular widths; blotches of ink spilled over some of the corners of paper and bleeding through; etc. etc., there was one painting among them all. It drew him because it was vastly different. Seemingly deceitful, because all that Lillium had procured showed Iris that he was not very versatile in the arts. But this one page, as he held it up to the light of the room’s lamp…

“ Um Iris?”

“ You’ve been blessed by the art gods, Lillium,” Iris said. 

Lillium expressed his confusion by mixing it with worrying drops of concern. 

‘ Poor Lillium, he was so distracted about making me happy that he was blinded by the power he holds. He and I will be powerful allies, in the event of catastrophe dooming the world into shambles, from which I will hold the greatest weapon in piecing back the earth again. Yes, I must tell him of my plans, my great plans, bandaged and bandaged hands together with power!’

Meeting his eyes now, it was at that moment when Lillium saw the fierce scintillate glow around Iris. 

Immediately responding with a tired sigh, Lillian got up, and headed to bed. 

He didn’t have the means of telling Iris, not tonight anyways, that the good ol trace-your-hand-as-it-is-pressed-into-the-paper was used in his lack of creativity. Perhaps he was regretful of not adding the colored feathers on the hand, perhaps he was too tired to care.

Perhaps he needed to shower. See if the scent of paint would have finally worn off.


End file.
